A Collection of Stories
by ScribbleWiggy
Summary: Just a collection of one-shots featuring the characters that have played a role in other SmiggleWiggy Skyrim tales, including a subject-to-change timeline of SmiggleWiggy's personal game and story line.
1. 4E 176

\- At some point between 4E 176 and 4E 177, Markarth is retaken from the Reachmen by Ulfric Stormcloak (18) and a militia made up of Nords. The Reachmen flee to the hills of the Reach and become the Forsworn, with a deep seated hatred for Nords of all kind.

\- At some point between 4E 176 and 4E 177, the Nord militia becomes known as the Stormcloaks.

\- Galmar Stone-Fist and Alvor Honeyrunner are appointed generals.

\- Somewhere between 4E 176 and 4E 199, the Skyrim Civil War breaks out.

\- 26th of Sun's Dawn: A young, unnamed babe is born and brought to an orphanage in Cyrodiil.

\- 13th of Midyear: That babe is adopted and given the name Hainin Marshal.


	2. 4E 179

\- 21st of Hearth Fire: Crayla Honeyrunner is born.

\- At some point between 4E 179 and 4E 180, Ziris Coldwater (7) joins the Thieves Guild under the mentorship of Mercer Frey.


	3. 4E 181

\- Some time between 181 and 182, the Forsworn king, Madanach, is captured by Jarl Igmund of Markarth and, on the insistence of Alvor Honeyrunner, is thrown into Cidhna Mine, where he continues to hand out orders to the surviving Forsworn.


	4. 4E 189

\- Alvor and Runa Honeyrunner are taken by a group of Forsworn to pay for the imprisonment of their king.

\- They are later found by a Stormcloak recovery team and returned to their  
children, mutilated.

\- Crayla vows to avenge her parents' deaths.


	5. 4E 191

\- Crayla Honeyrunner leaves her home in Whiterun.

\- The Forsworn of the Reach begin to be terrorized by an unknown figure simply called the 'Night Murderer'.

\- Nords and other races living in the Reach call the killer the 'Night Warrior'.


	6. 4E 194

\- The identity of the Forsworn killer is discovered by Madanach, who orders their death.

\- Crayla Honeryrunner flees Skyrim for Morrowind.


	7. 4E 196

\- Hainin Marshal leaves his home in Cyrodiil to travel around Skyrim.

\- Faisley Honeyrunner (23) leaves Whiterun for Windhelm to join the Stormcloaks.


	8. 4E 201

\- General Tullius is sent by the Emperor Titus Mede II to Skyrim to end the Civil War.

\- 15th of Rain's Hand: Brynjolf is appointed second in command of the Thieves Guild by Mercer Frey.

\- 1st of Last Seed: Grelod the Kind, in charge of Honorhall Orphanage, is assassinated.

\- 5th of Last Seed: Hainin Marshal (25) arrives at the Dark Brotherhood Falkreath Sanctuary.

\- 17th of Last Seed: Alduin the World Eater attacks Helgen, where a battalion of Imperials were in the process of executing an assortment of prisoners they'd found, along with a captured battalion of Stormcloaks.

\- Among these prisoners are Cry Silverworthy (22), Hainin Marshal, Ziris Coldwater (32), and Ulfric Stormcloak (43). All four escape Helgen alive.

\- 18th of Last Seed: Cry Silverworthy arrives in Whiterun.

\- 19th of Last Seed: A dragon attacks Whiterun's western watchtower, and Cry Silverworthy aides in killing it. It is revealed after the battle that Silverworthy is the Dragonborn.

\- 21st of Last Seed: Cry Silverworthy arrives at High Hrothgar to receive training from the Greybeards.

\- 22nd of Last Seed: A dragon sighted over Kynesgrove is killed.

- _24th of Last Seed_ : Roggvir is executed in Solitude for allowing Ulfric Stormcloak to flee the city after he killed High King Torygg.

\- Cry Silverworthy, Hainin Marshal, and Ziris Coldwater are all present during the execution, though there is no reported interaction between the three.

\- 5th of Hearth Fire: Cry Silverworthy joins the Companions as a whelp.

\- 10th of Hearth Fire: The Eyes of the Falmer are stolen by the Thieves Guild.

\- 14th of Frost Fall: Harbinger of the Companions, Kodlak Whitemane, is lain to rest in the Skyforge.

\- 3rd of Sun's Dusk: Cry Silverworthy joins the Bards College in Solitude.

\- 18th of Sun's Dusk: Cry Silverworthy retrieves an Elder Scroll from Blackreach.

\- 22nd of Sun's Dusk: Cry Silverworthy and Paarthurnax battle Alduin the World Eater atop the Throat of the World.

\- Alduin flees the battle.

\- 29th of Sun's Dusk: Ulfric Stormcloak and Galmar Stone-Fist meet with General Tullius and Legate Rikke in High Hrothgar to discuss a truce in order to deal with the dragon menace.

\- The meeting was called by the Greybeards themselves, at Cry Silverworthy's behest.

\- Jarls Balgruuf the Greater and Elisif the Fair of Whiterun and Solitude respectively are also present.

\- Delphine and Esbern of the Blades are present.

\- Thalmor Ambassador Elenwen attends, but is asked to leave by Silverworthy.

\- 5th of Evening Star: Cry Silverworthy is injured on a journey to Sky Haven Temple and taken to Jorrvaskr in Whiterun to heal.

\- 12th of Evening Star: Vittoria Vici is assassinated during her wedding to Asgeir Snow-Shod.

\- 13th of Evening Star: Cry Silverworthy successfully traps a dragon in Dragonsreach in Whiterun, to learn of Alduin the World Eater's location.

\- The dragon, Odahviing, flies Silverworthy to Skuldafn, where the World Eater's portal to Sovngarde awaits.

\- Somewhere between 13th of Evening Star and 15th of Evening Star, the World Eater is defeated in Sovngarde during the Battle of Tongues.

\- 15th of Evening Star: Cry Silverworthy returns to Skyrim and Whiterun.

\- 21st of Evening Star: An assassination attempt is made on Titus Mede II's life.

\- 22nd of Evening Star: The Falkreath Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary is attacked by the Penitus Oculatus.

\- The remaining members move on to the Dawnstar Sanctuary.

\- 30th of Evening Star: Cry Silverworthy is wed to Companions' Master at Arms Vilkas (25) outside of Ysgramor's Tomb.


	9. 4E 202

\- 1st of Morning Star: Emperor Titus Mede II is assassinated on his ship.

\- 2nd of Morning Star: Ziris Coldwater is appointed Guild Master of the Thieves Guild.

\- 23rd of Second Seed: Galmar Stone-Fist leads an attack against the city of Whiterun.

\- 14th of Hearth Fire: Ulfric Stormcloak leads an attack against the city of Solitude.

\- The Stormcloak Army emerges victorious, bringing an end to the Civil War.

\- Sometime between 4E 202 and 4E 203, Cry Silverworthy becomes the thane of all nine holds of Skyrim.

\- Sometime between 4E 202 and 4E 203, Cry Silverworthy and the rest of the Companions fight a war against the God of the Hunt, Hircine.

\- The Companions emerge victorious.

\- Sometime between 4E 202 and 4E 203, a war between the Dawnguard and the Volkihar Castle vampires breaks out.

\- Hainin Marshal assists Serana, a vampire, in stopping her father Harkon from putting out the sun.


	10. An Author's Note to Explain

**Wow, don't ask me what's going on, because I don't even know.**

 **I made the timeline mostly to help me with the story that I'm currently working on, but then I decided that it might be helpful for everyone else who reads my stories, too, so I decided to share it.**

 **Certainly, there is a much better way of doing so, but hey, what can you do?**

 **Anyway, 4E 203 is currently in progress, so once _A Story's Conclusion_ is over, I'll add that to this, and then we'll, hopefully, have a complete timeline to suit everyone's needs of trying to find out what's happening when. **

**Right. Cool.**

 **Anyway! Onto the second point!  
**

 **This story will also feature numerous other stories having to do with different characters in different scenarios whenever I get the fancy of writing one. So far, I have one featuring Vilkas, one featuring a chapter that I wanted to include in _A Story's Conclusion_ , but just didn't fit, one featuring Hainin, and one featuring Cry and Vilkas when they were little, but y'all don't get that one until I figure out what the actual hell I'm doing with Cry's personal story, which, as of right now, is titled _A Dragonborn's Tale_. **

**That's pretty good, right? I think it's pretty good.**

 **So, anyway! If anyone has an idea featuring one of my OCs, or a character or characters related to their story, let me know. I'd love for this FanFiction to be like... a million words long, just filled with one-shots that help draw this whole story together.**

 **Love you. Catch ya over in the next chapter of _A Story's Conclusion_ , which should be coming out 3-30-18. Lemme tell ya, it's about to get _wild_. Third parts of serieses always do, though. **


	11. A Crowd of Hundreds

**A little one-shot featuring a character we all know, although not by the name used in this story, and her first interaction with another character, unnamed, but probably not hard to guess.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **A Crowd of Hundreds**

* * *

"Crayla, stop fidgeting!" her mother ordered, reaching over and putting her hands flat on her lap. "You need to at least _act_ like you want to be here."

"Why?" Crayla muttered, pulling at the itchy skirt that she had been forced into earlier that day. "I _didn't_ want to come on this stupid trip."

"Language!" Runa hissed under her breath. She gestured towards Faisley, who was sitting beside Crayla in the cart. "Why can't you be like your sister, at least once?"

" _I'm_ not the one who's going to be queen someday," Crayla grumbled, glaring at her sister. Faisley had her hands folded neatly in her lap, her legs crossed at the ankles. _Her_ dress didn't look itchy.

"If you just tried sometimes, 'Ayla, you wouldn't get in trouble so much," Faisley whispered to her, low enough that their mother wouldn't hear. "She just wants you to behave for this last parade."

"Why is it even a parade?" Crayla asked her, suddenly feeling very tired. It had already been a really long day, having to stand still while her father and mother were nice to the Jarl of Whiterun. She still didn't even know why they had come to Whiterun with Father at all.

"It's a parade because Ulfric is popular here in Whiterun," Faisley said, " _and_ he's the youngest Nord to become a jarl in almost a century!"

Crayla snorted. "Sure he is." Her sister was obsessed with Ulfric Stormcloak, which was fine, she guessed, because they were going to get married as soon as Faisley was old enough, but _honestly_ , he wasn't that great. At least, not to her; what had he done, led a bunch of men and women to their deaths fighting in some war that didn't need fighting? Wow, good for him!

She rolled her eyes to herself. So dumb.

"Why aren't we moving yet?" Runa queried, looking around. The parade was starting at the front of Dragonsreach, which meant that the wagon they were in, and the large group of Stormcloaks that had come with Ulfric to Whiterun, were behind the palace. Crayla, for once, agreed with her mother; they had been sitting still for what felt like a really long time.

"I think the Whiterun guards are trying to get a handle on the crowd." A soldier standing beside the cart gestured. "I can sort of see what's happening; there are a _lot_ of people. I think some must have traveled to Whiterun just for this."

"No doubt," Runa said, settling down again. "First a defeat of the Reachmen, and now the Jarl of Windhelm. Ulfric must appear to be a spectacle for all these people."

Crayla huffed under her breath, and leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand, elbow on her knee. There was so much waiting during these dumb visits. She hadn't even been given the chance to explore Whiterun, and she had really wanted to see Jorrvaskr. Her father said that the Companions were the best band of warriors in Skyrim.

Someone called to someone else, and then that call echoed around the Stormcloak troops. The horse that was pulling their wagon jerked its head, and then the cart itself jerked as it started to move.

"Ah, good," Runa said, straightening her shoulders. "Sit up straight, girls. Crayla, can you at least _attempt_ to appear graceful?"

Crayla rolled her eyes again, but sat up straight once more. She lifted her chin, doing her best to appear as regal as Faisley, although she didn't feel even close. Faisley's red hair was glowing like fire in the sunlight, while her own was probably as dull as straw. She tried to ignore that, however, and decided that she was just going to stare straight ahead, and attempt to avoid making eye contact with any in Ulfric's adoring crowd.

The people cheered for them as soon as their cart cleared the palace, and Crayla sighed, but to herself. It was interesting, how being up higher than everyone else made it seem like they were better. She wasn't sure that she liked it, but she was going to do her best to look the part. Maybe if she didn't move around so much, her dress wouldn't itch as bad.

"'Ayla, why don't you wave to them?" Faisley asked her, a bright smile on her face and her hand permanently in the air as she waved to the crowd.

"I don't see any reason to," Crayla replied simply, keeping her chin up. "What's it going to do for them?"

"Make them feel loved?" Faisley suggested, blowing a kiss.

"By a girl they don't even know the name of?" Crayla retorted, but she kept her voice low. "It's pointless, Faisley."

"I'm sure at least one of these people knows your name," Faisley said. She went back to waving, switching hands. "Give it a try."

"No thanks," Crayla said.

She glanced around at the hundreds of people that were lining the path the cart was following. They were all cheering, probably mostly for Ulfric, but there were some who were calling out Galmar's name as well, and her father's. Crayla thought she heard a few people cheer for her mother as well. Faisley did not seem bothered that no one knew her name, because she kept waving and blowing kisses anyway.

Crayla refrained from rolling her eyes again. It was such nonsense.

"Crayla!"

She was startled when someone shouted her name from behind, and she turned to see a young, thin boy with long black hair was struggling to hold a position he had found at the front of the crowd. He called her name again, and even reached out a hand to her as the cart passed by where he was standing.

Crayla couldn't help herself; she grinned down at him. The boy seemed shocked by this, but he lowered himself into a bow anyway. She laughed, and waved to him. The sun shifted, then, and blinded her momentarily. When her vision had cleared again, however, the boy was gone, probably pushed once more into the crowd of hundreds.

Crayla faced forward once more, the smile still on her face. Runa looked pleased with her.

"That's the expression you should always wear," she said, happily, and then she went back to waving.

Faisley nudged her with her elbow, but Crayla brushed her off, an image of the boy who had known her name still in her head. She decided that, if she was ever going to be in another one of these parades, he was the one she would find, the one she would smile at and wave to.

After all, he had bowed to her.

* * *

 **How cute. Can you believe these two invented love at the ages of eight and ten? Amazing.**

 **(Inspired by the song _A Crowd of Thousands,_ from Anastasia on Broadway.)**


	12. A Sharp Decision

**I do not own Elder Scrolls V, not any of the characters/plot lines associated with it.**

* * *

 **Someone said in the comments of another story that they wanted a one-shot of Cry and Vilkas before they became a couple. This isn't exactly that, but there's bits of it inside.**

* * *

 **Cry goes through a lot in a matter of weeks, including choosing a weapon that she will take all over. Thankfully, there's someone around who can offer inspiration.**

* * *

 **Also, hey! Gonna put all the short stories about my Skyrim characters in _A Collection of Stories_ , but because it makes more sense that way. If you're wondering where something went, it probably ducked into _A Collection_ , so check the other chapters!**

* * *

 **A Sharp Decision**

* * *

Cry examined the sword that was being held up for her inspection, and then she shook her head.

"I don't think a short sword would suit me," she said, and Eorland let out an impatient breath.

"So what do you want, then? I don't have all day, lass," he said, putting the sword back down on the edge of the forge, and Cry shook her head.

"I really have no idea."

"Well, then you look at these, and make up your mind on your own. I have work to do," the blacksmith said, and then he walked off towards his grindstone.

Cry gaze down at the weapons sitting on the edge of the forge. All of them _looked nice_ , but none of them were speaking to her. She'd always been told that when a weapon was right for someone, it _spoke_ to them. None of these were doing that.

"Well," she said after a few moments, "I guess I'll make up my mind later."

Eorland didn't respond, and when she looked over at him, she saw it was because he had the grindstone going, and most likely hadn't heard her.

She started down the stairs towards the training yard of Jorrvaskr. She glanced around as she reached the bottom, and saw that most of the other Companions had come outside as well, and were training in various parts of the yard. Vilkas stood on the raised dining area, his arms crossed, and his eyes narrowed, as he took in all the trainees.

Cry passed by where Athis was standing with Aela, and watching as she showed him the proper way to hold a bow. Aela looked over at her as she passed by, and Cry smiled at her.

Instead of smiling back, the woman returned to her explanation, and Cry turned her gaze to the ground, picking up her pace, slightly.

"Hey, you! Whelp!" She turned, and saw the other twin, Farkas, crossing the yard towards her. She frowned to herself, wondering what he wanted. It had already been made clear to her that none of the Circle members spoke to the whelps unless they wanted them to do something.

Farkas paused in front of her, and Cry shied backwards. "Did you pick up a weapon, yet?" he asked her, and she shook her head.

"None of them seemed right," she explained, and Farkas sighed.

"Well, you'll need to find something, because we have a job to do, you and I."

Cry frowned slightly. "We do?"

Farkas nodded. "Skjor wants to be the one to explain it, though, so we should head inside."

Cry nodded, and followed him towards Jorrvaskr. They passed Vilkas as they went, and she accidentally brushed against his shoulder. She winced, expecting to get scolded, but he merely grunted and sidestepped.

She relaxed, and went into Jorrvaskr after Farkas. Once inside, they found Skjor sitting at the mead hall table, eating a late breakfast of fried venison and eggs. He glanced up at them, and lifted an eyebrow.

"Must you interrupt while I'm eating?" he asked, directing the question more to Farkas, who shrugged.

"You said it was urgent."

Skjor snorted, and looked at Cry. "It is," he said. "Someone's found another location of one of the shards of Wuuthrad."

"A shard of _what_?" Cry asked, completely confused, and Skjor exchanged a look with Farkas.

"Of _Wuuthrad_. You know, Ysgramor's axe?" Cry's expression must have answered that question, and Farkas snorted to himself. "Whelps."

"Easy, brother," Skjor said. "Not all of them were raised here in Jorrvaskr like you."

That caught Cry's attention. She looked at Farkas, curiously, but Skjor kept talking before she could asked him any questions.

"You and Farkas are going to go to Dustman's Cairn and retrieve the shard," he told her.

"Why aren't I going alone?" Cry asked.

"First of all, you may be skilled with a weapon, but you're not skilled enough to fight what's down in those ruins on your own," Skjor responded. "Secondly, Farkas will be there to assess you, and to ensure that you do the mission honorably. Thirdly, this is a mission that Kodlak decided you could handle, so it's best if we send someone along with you to make sure you don't _mess it up_." He grinned at her. "Fair?"

"Fair," Cry replies wearily.

"Good," Skjor said, sounding pleased. "Head our as soon as possible. Now, let me get back to my food, would ya?"

He turned back to the table, and Farkas took Cry's arm and tugged her away from it. She looked at him.

"So, you were raised here?" she asked, and he nodded.

"Vilkas and I were found by our father in a cave surrounded by Hagravens," he explained. "They don't know what we were doing there, and neither do we. The only life we know is the one we've had here as Jorrvaskr, and it's the only one we care about."

Cry smiled slightly. "I'm glad you found a home," she said to him, and he shrugged.

"It's a good one." He then looked at her again. "Get yourself a weapon, and meet me at Dustman's Cairn when you can. It's a bit to the north east of Whiterun. Just follow the road, and you'll get there."

Cry nodded, and then Farkas was out the door. She stared after him, wondering how he had so much energy. Glancing around, she exhaled a breath. Where was she going to find a weapon she could use temporarily?

"Whelp." She glanced over her shoulder and saw that Vilkas had entered Jorrvaskr again. He approached her, and gave her a once over. "Don't you have a job to be doing?"

"I do, but I still don't have a weapon," she responded, and Vilkas released an irritated sigh.

"Why didn't you just borrow one from Eorland like Skjor suggested?"

"This might sound stupid to you, but none of those weapons spoke to me," Cry informed him, crossing her arms. "When I pick a weapon, it needs to feel as though it'll work well with me, and none of those felt like that."

Vilkas was silent as he gazed at her, and then he snorted to himself and looked away again. "Well, you'll have to pick something, at least for this one job," he said. "Come here."

He led her around the edges of the mead hall to a weapon rack where a sword and a battle axe hung. He took the sword off of it and handed it to her. "Use this for now."

Cry gave the sword a few swings, frowning to herself. She then looked at Vilkas again. "I don't like it."

"Well, you don't have a choice," he said. "You should've taken better care of your other one."

"You broke it in half!" Cry exclaimed, and he shrugged.

"It was flimsy." He pointed to the sword she was holding. "You'll use this. Go."

Cry glared at his back as he walked away again, and then she exhaled angrily and stalked out of Jorrvaskr into the streets of Whiterun. She hated Vilkas so much, him and his stupid temporary sword.

* * *

"Hey, congratulations on your job!" Njada called to Cry as she passed where she sat at the mead hall table. "I heard Aela and Farkas talking about how well you did."

Cry shrugged one shoulder. "It was nothing, really," she said, "just some draugr."

 _And some bandits that were after a_ werewolf _, but the werewolf was on my side, so it's no big deal_.

Except for the fact that it was. A huge deal.

She settled down in a chair at one of the tables in the corner of the dining hall, and rested her chin in her hand, gazing at the floor. She didn't want to think about it, but it was all that she could do. Farkas was a _werewolf_ , the rest of the Circle were _werewolves_. What the actual -

"Hey." She glanced up and found Vilkas standing before the table, studying her.

"What do you want?" she asked him, not really in the mood to be ordered around.

"Skjor wants to speak with you," Vilkas responded, gesturing towards where Skjor stood against one of the wooden supports.

"Then why doesn't he come over to where I am?" Cry queried, under her breath.

"Hey, watch that tone," Vilkas warned, frowning at her.

Cry glared back, and pushed herself into a standing position before shoving past him towards where Skjor was. She stopped in front of him, and crossed her arms. "What?"

"Not in the best mood, are we?" Skjor queried, and Cry chose not to respond. "Well, we'll see how you feel after your ceremony."

"My what?" Cry asked tiredly, and Skjor exhaled a breath.

"Your ceremony to induct you into the Circle."

That caught her attention. She looked at him, her eyebrows drawn together. "Wait, what?"

Skjor nodded. "Farkas discussed it with me, and I discussed it with Kodlak, and he feels that you're ready to join the Circle," he told her.

"But… I've barely been here a month," Cry said, still frowning. "I don't understand -" She cut herself off as she finally understood it, and she met Skjor's gaze. "Oh. Right."

Skjor nodded again. "Exactly. So, after dinner, meet us in the training yard, and we'll get you inducted." He walked away, leaving Cry to return her gaze to the ground, deep in thought. Was she going to have to become a werewolf, too? Because she didn't want to be a werewolf, not in the slightest. But, she supposed if all the other Circle members were, and if she was going to be part of the Circle…

She let out an exhale. This wasn't going to improve her mood in the slightest.

* * *

Right after dinner, Cry headed out into the training yard, and she found the Circle members already there, waiting for her. She walked up to them, and Kodlak grinned warmly at her.

"Brothers and sisters of the Circle," he began, glancing around at everyone present. "Today we welcome a new soul into our mortal fold. This woman had endured, has challenged, and has shown her valor." He looked once more at Cry. "Who will speak for her?"

"I stand witness to the courage of the soul before us," Farkas stated, straightening his shoulders. Cry glanced at him, and he winked back, grinning. Cry turned her gaze to her feet.

"Would you raise your shield in her defense?" Kodlak asked Farkas.

"I would stand at her back, that the world might never overtake us," Farkas responded smoothly.

"And would you raise your sword in her honor?"

"It stands ready to meet the blood of her foes," Farkas assured.

"And would you raise a mug in her name?"

Cry glanced upwards, and saw that Farkas was still grinning at her. "I would lead the song of triumph as our mead hall reveled in her stories," he said proudly.

"Then the judgement of this Circle is complete," Kodlak determined, looking around at everyone once more. "Her heart beats with fury and courage that have united the Companions since the days of the distant green summers. Let it beat with ours, that he mountains may echo and our enemies may tremble at the call."

Everyone spoke up then, in agreement and confirmation of Kodlak's words: "It shall be so."

And, just like that, it was over, and Kodlak was gesturing her forward to him. "You're one of us now," he began. "I trust you won't disappoint."

"I'll do my best not to," Cry promised, and then she glanced around to make sure none of the whelps were close by to hear what she had to say next. "I do have a few questions, however."

"I would imagine so," Kodlak agreed. "Farkas told us about your discovery of our secret."

"Yeah, so… you're all _werewolves_?" Cry demanded. "How did that happen?"

"Through a long, arduous, and not exactly pleasant, story," Kodlak replied with a tired sigh. "Perhaps I will tell it to you, one day."

Cry let out a breath of her own. "All right, well, does this mean that I have to become a werewolf?" she asked him, and he smiled at her.

"Not at all," he said. "It is a choice one should be free to make, whether or not they are part of the Circle. Not all Companions need to hold the ability to hunt like a wolf, my girl; it does not change your standing in the slightest."

That relieved Cry to no end, and she felt her shoulders relax. "Thank you," she said, and Kodlak nodded in agreement.

"Why don't you go speak to Eorland?" he suggested. "I think it's high time you chose a weapon."

Cry grinned sheepishly, and Kodlak winked at her before turning and heading back into Jorrvaskr. Cry headed up to the Skyforge, where she found Eorland settled down at the grindstone. Before he could start working, she trotted over to him.

"I need a weapon," she announced, and Eorland gave her a dry look.

"Didn't you come say the exact same thing to me two weeks ago, and then promptly not choose one?" he queried, and Cry nodded.

"I did, but now I need one, because I'm part of the Circle."

"Oh, are you?" Eorland tilted his head. "Interesting."

"Why?"

"Well, the last whelps to join the Circle were Farkas and Vilkas," Eorland responded, "and that was almost two years ago, now."

Cry frowned. "Really?"

Eorland nodded. "And those two have been with the Companions practically their whole lives." He shrugged. "Ah, well, perhaps Kodlak sees something in you." He turned and nodded to the weapons that were hanging off of the rack nearby. "There's a selection for you to look at; Skyforge steel all. Pick one, and don't come back until you need it sharpened."

Cry smiled, and she walked over to the weapons rack. As she looked them over, she heard grunting, and the sound of a blade hitting one of the training dummies. Peering over the wall, her eyes landed on Vilkas. He was holding a greatsword that glinted in the setting sun, and swinging it furiously at the training dummies. Each swing made contact, because of how long the blade was, and how wide a reach Vilkas had while swinging it.

As Cry watched him, the weapon _sang_.

She turned to Eorland. "I want one of those," she stated, pointing.

He grunted as he rose from the grindstone, and walked over to where she was so that he could see what she meant. After a moment, he snorted. "No, lass," he said. "You're too slight to wield a greatsword like that."

Cry scowled at him. "I want a greatsword," she said, determined. "I don't care how heavy it is; it's what I want to fight with." She crossed her arms. "Make me one."

Eorland gazed at her steadily for a moment, and then he cracked a smile. "You're serious, aren't you?" Cry nodded, once, and he nodded back. "All right, I'll make you a greatsword. I should have it ready in two days or so. Do you think you can wait that long?"

Cry nodded again, and then she grinned. "Thanks, Eorland."

* * *

"Whoo-hoo!" Cry cheered as she swung her blade and it sliced easily through the wooden neck of the training dummy. The head of the dummy went flying across the training yard. She grinned down at her greatsword. "I knew you were the right choice for me!" she said to it.

Farkas came out of Jorrvaskr as she turned to another dummy and started attacking it as well, whooping happily the entire time. He stopped next to Vilkas, who was leaning against one of the posts over the dining area's cover, and nodded towards Cry.

"Looks like someone was inspired by you," he said to his twin, teasingly, and Vilkas rolled his eyes in response.

"I don't know where she got the idea that she's going to be able to use a greatsword extensively," he stated, dryly. "She's too short, and it probably weighs as much as she does."

Farkas snorted. "I doubt it. Look at her." He gestured towards Cry again. "She's more muscular than you are."

Vilkas responded by reached over and smacking Farkas on the back of the head. Farkas laughed, and walked away, rubbing his head, and Vilkas returned his attention to the newest member of the Companions, head tilted as he watched her cut off yet another dummy's head.

She cheered again, twirling her sword around, and the corner of his mouth raised in a smile. She certainly had spirit, if not size. Perhaps she'd be able to handle the greatsword after all.

"Vilkas!" He blinked, and realized that she was looking at him, and had been the one to call his name. She held up the sword, grinning toothily. "I'm going to be better than you in no time!"

"You wish!" he returned, and then he went after Farkas, who was chuckling once again.

* * *

 **So that was fun, right? I thought it was fun.**

 **Please go read _A Story's Conclusion._**


	13. A Chance Encounter

**I do not own Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, nor do I own Brynjolf, who takes over as narrator in this brief story.**

* * *

 **It's hard for Brynjolf to wait around in the cistern. (Takes place during A Thief's Journey)**

* * *

 **A Chance Encounter**

* * *

It was difficult for Brynjolf to remain down in the cistern for very long. He liked to get out into the open air of Riften, stroll around the city, see what was happening, what he had missed while down below. Usually, it wasn't very much, and Maul would send him away without any interesting information.

The day after Mercer and Ziris left for Snow Veil Sanctum, however, would prove that Brynjolf really did need to get out more often.

The redheaded thief approached where Maul was leaning against a building, looking around the Marketplace with a critical eye. Nonchalantly, Brynjolf leaned beside him.

"We've got a new arrival," Maul mumbled just loud enough for Brynjolf to hear. "Pretty little Nord. Has blonde hair and blue eyes. Can't miss her."

"And you think she's worth talking to?" Brynjolf queried.

"Dunno," Maul said with a shrug. "I know you like the ones that look a little lost, though." Maul glanced at Brynjolf just long enough for him to see that his eyebrow was raised. "I think you'll really like this one."

"Fair enough," Brynjolf said, straightening up and away from the wall. "I'll keep an eye out."

"You do that," Maul grunted back, and then Brynjolf left him to his watching.

He circled the Marketplace a few times, pretending to admire some things at the varying stands. He was actually doing his best to pick out the newcomer that Maul had told him about. He had to wonder how hard a blonde, lost-looking Nord would be to find in Riften.

It seemed that the answer was _very_.

Just when Brynjolf was ready to call it quits, and start to head back down to the Guild, he caught sight of her, emerging from the Bee and Barb. She was pretty, at least from where Brynjolf was standing. She had her hair, which was the color of shining gold, pulled out of her face in a braid, and she couldn't have been any taller than his chest.

She was dressed in what seemed to be a mix of several different flavors of armor, with her hide boots, studded leather currais, and leather bracers. At her hip swung a sheath that was not bigger than that of a dagger, and her back wielded a simple hunting bow, and a sheath of iron arrows.

 _Maul wasn't wrong_ , Brynjolf thought in amusement as he watched the woman glance around her surroundings. _I wouldn't say lost is the right word for her, though. More… out of place_.

He decided that he wanted to speak with her.

So, he ran a hand through his hair, plastered his lopsided grin on his face, and headed across the Marketplace towards her. Thankfully, she remained in one spot, so he didn't have to chase after her, and she jumped a bit when he spoke up as he reached her.

"You look a little lost, lass. Can I help with anything?"

She turned around, and Brynjolf's grin fell flat when he saw her face up close. Her eyes were indeed blue, but they were slanted in such a way that reminded him of a cat that moved silently through the shadows, and wouldn't blink no matter how long you gazed at it. The blue itself was a shade somewhere between sea and sky.

What got him the most, however, was the way they twinkled when she grinned at him, matching his grin almost perfectly.

"What would you know about being lost?" she inquired, and Brynjolf had to take a moment to realize that she wasn't singing. "You look as though you've lived here your entire life."

Brynjolf took a moment before responding, needing to regain his footing. Her eyes, and her response to his question, had caught him extremely off-guard.

"That I have," he said, "which makes me the perfect person to direct you to where you want to go."

Her eyebrow raised inquisitively. "I don't imagine you'd do that simply out of the kindness of your heart."

Brynjolf chuckled. "No," he admitted. "I suppose I wouldn't." He held up his hands. "You've got me."

"I'm looking for a man, who's supposed to be here in Riften, somewhere," she said without pause. "He'll be fairly old, probably sixty or seventy years, and he might… talk a bit funny. Maybe about… dragons?"

It was Brynjolf's turn to cock an eyebrow. "I might know someone who matches your description," he said, carefully. "What do you need him for?"

"I have someone who wishes to speak with him," the woman replied, giving a flippant wave of her hand. "It's not important. Where is he?"

"Whoa, slow down, lass," Brynjolf advised, putting up his hands again. "I thought we'd already come to the same conclusion that information wasn't going to be given away for free?"

The woman exhaled a patient breath, and crossed her arms. "Fine," she said, tapping her foot. "What do you want? Gold? Afraid to tell you this, but…" She gestured towards her attire. "I'm not exactly rich."

"I'm sure we could come to an agreement of some kind," Brynjolf replied, and he smiled at her. "First, though, I'd like to know your name."

Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"Common courtesy, I believe," he said. "I'll go first, if you like." He placed a hand against his chest, and bowed to her. "I'm Brynjolf, and it is an honor to meet you."

He spared a glance upwards when she didn't respond immediately, and was relieved to find her smiling again. Very gracefully, she slid into a curtsy. "My name is Cry Silverworthy," she told him. "It's nice to meet you, too, Brynjolf."

They straightened up together, as though they were preparing to dance, and Brynjolf had to stop himself from reaching out to take her hand. Instead, he gestured towards the Bee and Barb, situated behind her.

"Would you like to join me for a drink?" he queried. "Perhaps we can talk more about this man you're looking for."

Cry Silverworthy appraised him for a moment, and then, eyes glittering, she nodded. "All right," she said.

"Wonderful," Brynjolf responded, and he stepped around her to open the door to the inn, gesturing inwards. "After you."

* * *

It's difficult for Brynjolf to give up information without asking for something in return. As soon as he and Cry had ordered drinks (mead for the both of them, which pleased Brynjolf more than he'd say out loud), and began to talk, however, he started to realize that she knew how to coax information out of people, almost as well as he did.

It was undeniable. She had a song in her voice, something he'd noticed practically from her first words to him, and she only sang sweeter the more he drank. Brynjolf, however, could keep his head for quite a long time while drinking, and he matched her song with his own honeyed words.

After some time, Cry seemed to understand that she wouldn't be getting information from him as easily as she'd imagined once she'd got him drinking, and her glow started to fade.

Brynjolf, who was running high on that very same glow, started to fade, too.

After four bottles of mead had been drunk by the both of them, Cry pushed her chair away from the table they were seated at, and kicked her booted feet up onto the top of it.

"All right, Bryn," she started, eyeing him from over the toes of her boots. "I'm done playing games. Are you going to tell me where the man is, or should I just assume you don't know, and find someone who does?"

"If you were to do that, you'd be assuming wrong, because I know _exactly_ where your man is, and I may or may not be the only one in Riften who does, and is willing to tell you," Brynjolf easily shot back. "I already told you that it was going to cost you something."

"Well, then what do you want?" Cry demanded. She reached down to the floor, where her knapsack was resting near her bow and quiver of arrows, and dropped it on the table in front of him. "I don't have anything to give you, so… you're going to have to come up with something that's not material."

Brynjolf glanced first at her knapsack, and then he raised his eyes and met hers over her boots. Cry blinked at him, her eyes bright with the aftermath of the mead, and Brynjolf offered her the most dashing smile he could manage in his current, inebriated state.

"Oh, no," she said, taking her feet off the table. She shook her head, chuckling, and rested her elbows on it instead. "I'm… I'm not like that."

"I never implied that you were 'like that', whatever that means," Brynjolf said, his grin never leaving his face.

Cry eyed him, and then she snorted, and waggled her finger at him. "I know what you're thinking, and it's not gonna happen, no matter how handsome you think you are."

"How handsome _I_ think I am?" Brynjolf questioned, tilting his head. "Are we sure it doesn't go both ways, lass?"

Cry rolled her eyes, and Brynjolf refrained from laughing out loud. "It's not gonna happen no matter how handsome I think you are, either. So there."

Brynjolf's grin merely widened. "And how handsome is that, exactly?"

Cry's lips parted, and Brynjolf noticed she was staring at his own. "You're all right," she murmured.

Brynjolf reached across the table, and took one of her hands in his. Cry watched him do this, and she watched as he leaned forward and kissed the back of it.

"I must say that I think you're rather beautiful, too, lass," he told her, lips brushing her hand.

Cry inhaled sharply, and yanked her hand away from him. "I _don't_ do that," she said vehemently, and Brynjolf wondered if she was trying to convince him, or herself.

After a moment of watching each other, Brynjolf shrugged lazily, and stood, stretching. He was very aware of Cry watching him intently, and he made sure to go as slowly as possible, shaking his arms out individually.

"All right," he said. "That's fine. The man you're looking for lives down in the Ratway Warrens, beneath the city. I don't know his name, but he's paying my outfit quite a bit of money to keep his hideaway a secret."

Cry looked relieved as soon as he'd finished speaking. She nodded, standing up from her own chair, and scooped up her knapsack and weapons. She shouldered them, glancing at him as she did so.

"Thank you," she said. "I'd best be on my way."

She started to walk past him, and Brynjolf felt her hand ever-so-slightly graze his sleeve. Without thinking about it, he reached out and circled his own around her wrist, pulling her to a halt.

Cry stopped rather willingly, and allowed him to rotate her around so that she was facing him. They were standing closely together, and Brynjolf could easily see over the top of her head, but his eyes were fixed on hers, which were dark with… something.

Brynjolf didn't think it was the alcohol.

"Are you sure you don't want to sleep off those drinks?" he asked her softly, and Cry's breathing hitched just the tiniest bit.

"Maybe it'd be the smartest thing," she whispered after a moment.

"I think so, too," Brynjolf said. "Stay here; I'll go get you a room."

Cry nodded, and he walked over to where Keerava stood behind the bar. Within a few moments, he'd secured a room for only five gold, and he returned to where Cry was waiting, watching him.

He carefully slid his hand around hers, and then led her towards the stairs, climbing up behind her. They ducked into a room, and Brynjolf closed the door behind them, turning around and watching as Cry dropped her knapsack, bow and quiver on the floor at the foot of the bed.

She then turned around to face him, and they stared at one another for a very long time.

"You're good at pretending to be drunk," he finally said, and Cry snorted softly.

"You're not drunk either, are you?"

"Not even the slightest."

"Good." Cry took two steps towards him, just enough for her to be able to reach out and grab a handful of the fabric of his shirt, and pull him to her. She leaned up onto her toes, and pressed her mouth close enough to his that he could feel her words: "I want you to remember this."

* * *

It's difficult for Brynjolf to remain in the bed he'd shared with a woman for longer than an hour after their ministrations were done, but Cry wore him out so badly that he fell asleep with a grin on his face.

When he awoke the next morning, he partially expected _her_ to be the one that had left, but no, she was there, stretched out across the bed like a cat. In fact, when he reached over and rested a hand on her bare back, she let out a sound that reminded him of a purr.

Brynjolf smiled sleepily to himself, and trailed his fingertips down her back to the smooth curve of her rump. "I'm glad you're still here," he told her.

Cry raised her head from where it had been resting on her arms, and glanced at him, an eyebrow lifted.

"I thought you'd leave," she said. "You seem the type."

"Usually I do leave," Brynjolf answered, moving his fingers back upwards, "but I fell asleep."

Cry laughed at that, and Brynjolf's chest warmed up from the sound of it. Something twitched deep within his belly as well, and Cry's eyebrow raised higher when she looked downwards.

"Oh, look at that," she mused, rolling over so that she was facing him completely. "Not so tired anymore, are you?"

"Aye, I suppose not," Brynjolf replied, eager for her to crawl just a bit closer to him.

"Well…" Cry did exactly what he was hoping she would, and slid over to where he was. "No sense in letting it go to waste."

Her lips met his in a rather languid kiss, but the hand that met him down below was less than tender. Brynjolf cut off the kiss with a groan that managed to escape without him meaning it to, and he felt Cry smile against his mouth.

"Does it hurt?" she asked him sweetly.

"Not…" She did something different, and he squirmed a bit, biting his tongue. "Not badly."

"Good," Cry murmured, moving her lips to his jaw, and then to his neck. "It's not supposed to hurt _badly_."

Brynjolf was very aware that she was making fun of him, but he was too preoccupied to care very much.

After some time, during which Brynjolf had to deal with nails and teeth and tongue while trying to remain as quiet as possible, he allowed himself to break with a shout only muffled by the fact that Cry leaned up to smother him with another kiss just in time.

She fell off to the side of the bed beside him, and Brynjolf remained gazing up at the ceiling for a time, just doing his best to regulate his breathing again.

"Divines, lass," he said at last, when he was sure he could speak without his voice breaking. "I thought something inside me was going to burst."

Cry laughed again, and Brynjolf turned his head so that he could see her. "That's kind of the point, don't you think?" she queried, and he couldn't help but smile in response.

"Aye," he said. "I do." He rolled over onto his side, and Cry did the same. Without them meaning too, their legs tangled together, and Brynjolf reached out to run a hand through her hair. "Where do you come from?"

Cry smirked. "Would you believe me if I said Aetherius?"

"Yes," Brynjolf answered earnestly, and Cry giggled.

"I'm from Whiterun," she told him. "I spent some time away from Skyrim, traveling in Morrowind, and then I came back. Now… I guess you could say I'm traveling again, but with more purpose this time."

"So… you're not lost, then, are you?" Brynjolf asked her, and she shook her head, reaching up and taking his hand into her own. Their fingers entwined easily.

"No, I don't think so," she replied. "I know where I am, at any rate. I just… don't exactly know where I'm going."

Brynjolf considered that for a moment, and then he nodded. "Fair enough. Does anyone really know where they're going?"

"No," Cry said with a small smile. She gazed at him. "You're a part of the Thieves Guild, aren't you?"

"How'd you guess?" Brynjolf queried, not surprised she'd figured it out, but curious to know what gave it away.

"You mentioned your 'outfit' being paid by the man I'm looking for to keep him hidden away," she replied. "There's only one outfit who lives in Riften, and down in the Ratway." She tapped him on the nose. "You should do better about hiding your location, thief."

"Ah." Brynjolf supposed she was right. "And the man you're looking for… where are you taking him?"

Cry stared at him for a moment without blinking, and then her eyes drifted downwards. "I don't think that's something I want to share."

"Oh, come on, lass," he said, grinning. "Who am I going to tell?"

Cry let out a breath, and met his eyes again. Brynjolf did his best to look innocent, and she smiled at his efforts. "I doubt you'll believe me," she told him.

"Try me."

"All right." Cry sat up, and looked down at him. "I'm the Dragonborn."

Brynjolf gazed up at her for a moment, his grin slipping away. When she didn't say anything else, he sat up as well. "The Dragonborn?" She nodded. "Like the men in the old stories, who killed dragons and sucked out their souls?"

"Yes," Cry said, "that's exactly what I do. It kills the dragon permanently, and I can use the souls to do that Shouting business that dragons can do."

"But…" Brynjolf shook his head. "Dragons? I'd… I'd heard stories about the one that attacked Helgen, but I've never seen one here in the Rift, so I assumed…" He tilted his head and examined her. "You don't look like a Dragonborn."

Thankfully, Cry broke out in a grin and chortled. "I don't think that matters much," she told him. She then let out a sigh. "Actually, it feels really good to be able to say out loud that I'm the Dragonborn. Not very many people know that it's me, although they do know that there is one. I've sort of been keeping to myself, though, trying to figure out what's going on, and why the dragons are back after all these years. That's why I'm looking for the man hiding in the Ratways. Apparently, he knows a bit about dragons, and he might know how to get rid of them."

Brynjolf was amazed. "So, you can Shout, like Ulfric Stormcloak, and those Greybeards that live up in High Hrothgar?"

Cry nodded. "It's dangerous to do in a confined space, or else I'd show you." She scratched her nose. "Actually, I probably wouldn't, since no one here in Riften knows it's me."

Brynjolf put up his hands. "I won't say a word."

"Thank you," Cry said earnestly. She then glanced towards the window, and her eyes widened. "Oh! I should get down in the Ratways, and start looking for the man!" She clambered out of bed, and started retrieving her discarded armor pieces that had been tossed all over the floor the night before.

Brynjolf watched her do this, feeling her warmth from where she'd lain beside him fade almost instantly. He didn't want her to go.

As she sat down to pull on her boots, he slid across the bed until he was behind her, and moved her hair over one shoulder in order to kiss her neck.

Cry's head tilted in order to push him away. "Sorry, thief," she said quietly, "but I really need to get moving."

Brynjolf remained where he was for a moment longer, and then he submissively slid backwards away from her. Cry finished with her boots and stood again, reaching for her knapsack this time,and then her bow and arrows. When she straightened up, she looked at Brynjolf, and smiled.

"Thank you again," she said warmly. "I really do appreciate the information, and your discretion." Her cheeks turned a light shade of pink. "And… the other things, too. It's been awhile since I was able to let go like that."

Brynjolf returned her smile, although his lacked the lightness of her own. "It was my pleasure," he assured her. "Really."

Cry nodded, and then started for the door of the room. She only went about three steps, however, before she turned and darted back over to where he sat. She quickly leaned across the bed and kissed him deeply for several moments.

Brynjolf was about to reach up and tangle his fingers in her hair when she pulled away and backed off, smiling with a bit more apology than she had previously.

"Maybe I'll see you again," she told him, moving backwards towards the door.

"I wouldn't be opposed," Brynjolf responded, and Cry's eyes glittered a bit as her smile brightened just the slightest, and then she waved and was gone.

Brynjolf gazed at the door long after it had closed, before finally collapsing backwards onto the bed. His lips still burned from the last kiss she'd given him, and he chuckled to himself.

"Dragon," he mused softly, before rolling over and off the bed in order to get dressed himself.

It was difficult for Brynjolf to remain in the cistern for very long, but it was even more so for him to forget about Cry Silverworthy, and her kisses that burned like dragon's fire.

In fact, if he was being honest, he _never_ forgot her, and went looking every time he was on the surface.

* * *

 **...**

 **Now, before anyone accuses me of anything, I would like to point out two things:**

 **A) Cry has not met Vilkas at this point in the timeline.  
B) Brynjolf and Ziris aren't together at this point in the timeline, either.**

 **So, no, neither of these characters is being disloyal. This is simply a plot point that will be important at a later date, and I figured instead of just mentioning it, I would actually write a one-shot about it.**

 **Because I'll take any excuse I can find to write about one or more of my Skryim characters.**


	14. A Good Night's Sleep

**I do not own Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, nor do I own Vilkas. I own only Cry, and I am party to the love between her and the Companion who claims the part of narrator in this one-shot.**

* * *

 **Vilkas hasn't slept fully through the night since Cry had left Jorrvaskr. (Takes place during An Assassin's Changes)**

* * *

 **A Good Night's Sleep**

* * *

Vilkas blinks his eyes open. Something had disturbed his sleep, but it had been something he was unconsciously aware of, so not a sound or a smell. It was something else, something… familiar.

He tenses a bit, an automatic response he'd come to every time he felt something was wrong, even after just waking up from a fitful sleep.

Sleep had evaded him as a ritual since Cry had left during the night almost a fortnight prior. Since then, Vilkas had tried moving back to his old room, to see if it was possible that he just couldn't sleep in the Harbinger's room without her there. It helped, but only a bit.

His eyes open and shut against the darkness again, still unaccustomed to not being able to see without light. One of the capabilities of a werewolf that he'd gotten used too, and was now realizing he had taken for granted. Not that he wanted it back, of course. Not being a werewolf was also a gift that he was taking for granted, not fully appreciating.

Perhaps it was because Cry was gone.

Vilkas allows himself to relax. Whatever unconscious thing he'd felt before seemed to be gone. There was no need to worry, nothing to get excited about. He needed sleep; there was a trek in store for him the following day, to retrieve a stolen something or other from a group of bandits near the Reach.

He lets his eyes close. As he begins to doze off once more, the feeling returns. This time, he sits upright, feeling more frustrated than anything. What _was_ he feeling, and why was it bothering him so much?

He blinks a few times, trying to adjust to the darkness of his old room. When his vision doesn't clear as quickly as he wants it too, he lets out a grunt and presses his fists into his eyes to move the process along a bit. When he lowers his hands, he sees stars for a few seconds, but they fade away and he peers around the still unclear room, trying to discern any unnatural shapes within the darkness.

Instead, he is hit by a scent, and an extremely familiar, heartbreaking scent at that. A scent he'd always be able to smell, even without the nose of a werewolf.

Vilkas closes his eyes and inhales deeply, relishing in the smell of sweet rolls and mountain flowers that had suddenly entered his senses. He can almost taste it, it was so clear. He can feel her, too. If only he could see her…

His eyes open when the smell doesn't go away, as he'd thought it would. This time, it is obvious that there is an unusual form in the shadows of his room. Vilkas frowns and peers in its direction, the smell and the dreadfully familiar feelings of touch and taste overwhelming him.

"Did I wake you? I'm sorry."

Vilkas's heart skids to a halt at the familiar sound, one that was like music to his ears, and one that often _was_ music, when the source it belonged to decided to sing, which was more often than not. The singing had gotten on his nerves once upon a time, but when she'd left, he'd realized he'd gotten used to it, and that he missed it.

Was it possible he was going to get it back?

He blinks, again, and then, quietly, dares to speak her name out loud, as an inquiry, almost a prayer: "Cry?"

There's movement in the darkness, and then she was there, standing a few inches away from the edge of his bed, her arms crossed over her chest, as though she felt uncomfortable. Vilkas can see her clearly, now, and it leaves him dumbfounded. She can't actually be here, can she?

"Hi," she whispers, gazing at him. "I'm home."

Vilkas lets out a noise similar to a sob, as close to one as he could get, at least, and reaches outwards with both arms. He succeeds in wrapping them around her waist, and pulls her to him, closing the distance she'd left. Cry goes willingly, practically falling apart in his grasp, and she sat on the edge of the bed, releasing a soft sob of her own as Vilkas hugs her against him, his face pressed into her hair.

"You're real," he whispers. "I cannot believe that you are real."

Cry swallows against more tears and returns the hug, wrapping her arms tightly around his back and hiding her face in his chest.

"I'm real," she says to him, just as quietly. "I promise you I'm real, and I'm not leaving again."

"Cry, I… I'm so sorry -"

"Shh." She cuts him off with a quick shushing, and shifts so that she can see him. She raises one hand to his face and runs her fingers through his hair, gazing at all of his features. After a moment, she lets out a soft laugh. "You really do want me here," she says, sounding amazed.

"I was lost without you," Vilkas answers without hesitating. "I couldn't sleep, couldn't eat… could scarcely breath." He meets her eyes, and uses one hand to cup her cheek. "Please… don't ever do that to me again."

"I won't," Cry promises. "Not in a thousand years. Not even a thousand eras." She rests her forehead against his. "I'm sorry for not telling you who I was before. It was a stupid mistake."

"I don't care who you were," Vilkas starts, running his thumb across her cheek. "What matters is who you _are_ , and that you're here, now, with me." He leans forward and kisses her. Cry lets out a quiet hum in response, and Vilkas grins through the kiss before pulling back. "And that I can do that."

"So you're not angry?" Cry asks him, blinking.

"No, love," Vilkas replies, shaking his head. "I might have been, but not any longer. I love you, and nothing will change that. Not your past, and nothing you will do in the future." Cry blinks at him, and Vilkas gently brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes. "Tell me what you're thinking," he whispers.

"I'm thinking…" Cry offers him a small smile, and a light laugh. "I'm thinking that I should tell you about Sovngarde, and about… everything that happened when I left you the first time."

"No," Vilkas says immediately. "Not now."

"No," Cry agrees. "Not now."

Together, on an unspoken agreement, they rise from Vilkas's bed and walk down the hall to get to the Harbinger's rooms, their rooms. Vilkas helps Cry get undressed, and then watches as she sits down on the edge of the bed, passing her hand across the blanket.

Vilkas smiles to himself when the corner of Cry's mouth raises. She was happy to be home, and he was happy to have her home.

Cry glances in his direction. "Come to bed, husband," she invites, shifting so that she can slip under the blanket herself.

Vilkas wastes no time in going around the bed to his own side, and he lays down beside her. Gladness rushes through him when Cry instinctively curls up into a ball again his chest, and he slides his arms around her. Vilkas couldn't even begin to describe how ecstatic he was that she was in his arms once again, safe and sound.

"Vilkas," she begins after a few minutes of silence. It startles him; he'd been certain she'd fallen asleep.

"Yes, love?" he queries.

"I think I need to go visit Markarth," Cry says.

Vilkas hums. "Haven't checked in in a while?" he guesses.

Cry was the Thane of every Hold in Skyrim. She had to visit each Hold at least once a month. Vilkas had no doubt she'd been avoiding Markarth on purpose. Cry hated the Reach.

"Do you think Farkas will come with me?" she asks him.

"I'm sure," Vilkas responds. "Of course, you always have the choice of asking me, too."

"Hmm." Cry mumbles something, but it is discernible. Vilkas doesn't ask her to clarify. Instead, he presses a kiss against her shoulder and tightens his grip around her.

"We'll talk about it in the morning," he murmurs, and then lets his eyes drift shut.

For the first time in a fortnight, both Cry and Vilkas sleep deeply.

* * *

 **This clearly takes place during _An Assassin's Changes_ , the night Cry returns home to Jorrvaskr after Hainin convinces her to. **

**Uh... it's written in present tense because when I wrote this I was playing with present tense, and I learned that I hate present tense and will forever use past tense.**


	15. A Lack of Trust

**I don't own any aspect of Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, including story lines or characters. The only things that belong to me are the story lines _I_ come up with, and the characters that I stick in them. **

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**I wrote this because I pulled up a word generator, and _trust_ was what came up. Featuring Hainin and Serana, because I love them. **

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**A Lack of Trust**

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"Why don't you trust me?"

"Do you want the list to be alphabetized, or by date?"

Hainin rolled his eyes skyward at the sarcasm. "I'm sorry," he began, slowly, and dryly, "but who was it that helped stop your father from creating a plague of no sunlight by killing you?" He paused. "Oh, right, that was me."

Serana exhaled a breath. "You have some redeeming qualities," she admitted, "but I would not trust you with something this serious."

"But _why_?" Hainin asked, almost in a whine, now. "It's only a potion, and I never want to help with potions. Let me help, Serana, please."

"You never wanting to help with potions is part of the reason I don't want to trust you," Serana told him. "Why do you want to help, now? What could your motivation possibly be? I'm forced to ask myself what you stand to gain, or what you want to do, and my answers are not good, and therefore, I will not trust you."

She turned back to her work without another word, and Hainin scowled at the back of her head, crossing his arms out of frustration. He then huffed, and scoffed, and kicked at a stray stone on the ground. It clattered away down the stairs, and he looked back at the vampire to see if she'd reacted to the sound. She had not.

Hainin huffed again, and leaned around her to peer at whatever it was that she was doing. In truth, he'd been attracted by the use of a gold septim in the potion; what could she possibly need a coin for in a mixture? How was it going to affect whatever it was that she was making? He wanted to know!

"Serana," he said, but she did not look back at him. "Serana!"

"Hainin, please stop trying to talk to me," she said without looking at him. "I'm busy. Go bother someone else."

"But -"

"Hainin, I will zap you," she warned, holding up one hand, the fingers of which were already glowing purple with lightning. "Do not make me."

Hainin took a step backwards, but did not leave the corner where the alchemy things were set up on a table next to the garden that grew inside of the Sanctuary.

"I want to help," he said, quietly, despondently, and Serana let out a sharp breath of air, before lowering her hand and rotating around to face him.

"You want to help? Fine." Before he knew what was happening, a bucket was thrust into his hands. "Go outside and collect snow."

"Snow?" Hainin asked, lifting an eyebrow and looking down at the bucket.

"Yes, snow," Serana replied. "Not just any snow, though. I need snow that's been stepped on by wolves."

Hainin gaped up at her. "How am I supposed to find _that_?" he demanded, and Serana shrugged.

"You said you wanted to help, and this is what I need help with," she said, and then she waved her hand in the direction of the door to the Sanctuary. "Go on."

With that, she turned back around, and Hainin hesitated a moment before he turned as well and headed for the door.

Once he was outside, he stood there for a moment, gazing out at the waves and then he spun around, looking at the vast landscape of snow that awaited him.

He cursed under his breath. He should have guessed that Serana would do this to him. He had a feeling that she had no need for snow whatsoever, and especially not for snow that had been walked on by wolves.

Which gave him an idea.

He walked around for awhile, to make it seem like he had actually spent time looking for the special snow, and then he just picked up a random pile and dropped it into the bucket, before turning around and marching back to the Sanctuary.

He closed the door, and went over to the alchemy corner, clearing his throat to announce his arrival.

"I got your snow," he announced, and Serana turned around again, her eyes narrowed. She examined the snow in the bucket, which he was holding out to her, and then she looked up at him. Hainin offered her a pleasant, innocent grin, and Serana took the bucket from him.

Hainin moved forward to see what she would do with it. Sitting on the table in front of her were several different bowls, each filled with different colored liquids. Serana scooped up some of the snow from the bucket, and dropped it into the bowl that was filled with red potion. She then set the bucket down, and leaned her elbow on the table, seemingly to wait.

Hainin crossed his arms, not really knowing what they were waiting for. When seemingly nothing happened for several minutes, he glanced at her.

"What are we looking for?"

"Nothing," Serana answered, and then she dumped the red liquid and snow mixture into the bucket, which she kicked beneath the table. "If you'd actually brought me snow that had been stepped on by wolves, the potion would have turned blue. It didn't, which means I was right not to trust you with anything."

Instead of being annoyed with this, Hainin was surprised instead. He couldn't believe what she'd told him.

"It would have turned blue? Really?" he asked, and Serana nodded.

"Yes, but since you brought me normal snow, it didn't."

Hainin frowned at her for a moment, and then he crossed his arms again. "I don't believe you," he decided, and Serana rolled her eyes to herself.

"I don't care if you don't believe me," she told him.

"Well, you should," Hainin decided, rather unhappily. He thought about it for a moment. "You'll have to prove it to me."

"I don't have to prove anything to you!" Serana retorted. "That would mean I'd have to go out and actually find snow that's been stepped on by wolves, and I'm not going to do that, because I'm busy!"

Hainin was silent for a moment, and then he huffed and picked up the bucket again, then disappeared. Once she heard the door to the Sanctuary close, Serana smiled to herself, and relaxed. It was always easy to get Hainin to leave her alone; reverse psychology was a wonderful method.

* * *

 **Terrible. 4 outta 10 shitty, shitty one-shots.**

 **Be back over in _A Story's Conclusion_ sometime this weekend. That's where the money is. **


	16. The Morning After

**I don't own any aspect of Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, including story lines or characters. The only things that belong to me are the story lines _I_ come up with, and the characters that I stick in them. **

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**Hainin's perspective on the morning after.**

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 **The Morning After**

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Time had passed. It had felt like it had been days, when really it had only been a matter of hours. The morning after the death of the Dragonborn dawned bright and sunny. It entered through the windows of Jorrvaskr's mead hall, moving slowly, and lightening up the room as it went.

Hainin watched the shadow move across the floor, his eyes aching from lack of sleep and too much crying. He pressed his palms into them hard, willing the pain to go away, but he only succeeded in creating stars in front of his eyes instead.

Jorrvaskr was quiet, which was to be expected. Everyone was still down in the living quarters. Hainin didn't know if they had gotten any sleep, but he doubted it, especially when it came to Vilkas. He expected that Vilkas hadn't left the Harbinger's bedchamber once.

He hoped he would have the chance to see Cry as well, before plans started being made for whatever came next, whether it be the traditional Companion burning, or a simple burial. Hainin hoped they chose to do the burning, however; Cry deserved that, and so much more.

He let out a weak sob, and hung his head in his hands. She had deserved so much _better_ , than to die during childbirth. She and Vilkas had wanted a baby for so long. It just… it wasn't fair that she hadn't been allowed to experience it at all.

There was movement near the stairs leading down to the living quarters, and Hainin quickly straightened up, wiping at his eyes. He was unsurprised to see that it was Aela coming up. She nodded to him, and he nodded back, watching as she walked past where he sat and disappeared outside. Hainin exhaled. He would need to go down there eventually.

He pushed the chair he was sitting in away from the table, and then stood up. His knees popped from the effort; he must have been sitting there for a lot longer than he had thought.

Hainin made his way down the stairs, and pushed the door open to the living quarters. As soon as he did, he heard the sounds of a baby's crying, and he winced. The last thing he wanted right now was to see that baby, the one that had killed his best friend.

He steeled himself, however, and walked down the hall towards the Harbinger's quarters, deciding his desire to see his friend was greater than his desire to avoid the baby at all cost.

He knocked on the closed door of the sitting room, and after a moment, an exhausted looking Faisley opened the door, allowing the crying to grow even louder. Hainin felt his eye twitch. Faisley offered him a sad smile.

"You didn't sleep either?"

"No," Hainin replied, and he exhaled a breath. "Has Vilkas?"

"I haven't seen him," she admitted. "He hasn't let me in the room."

Hainin glanced over his shoulder. "And Farkas?"

"Aela made him take a sleeping draught. He went and laid down an hour ago." She reached up and brushed her forearm across her eyes. "I just want to see my sister, Hainin."

Hainin dipped his head. "I can try to talk to Vilkas," he said.

"I suppose that you might as well try, considering everyone else has," Faisley agreed, and she allowed him into the sitting room.

Hainin didn't glance in the cradle's direction once as he walked over to the closed door leading into the bedchamber. He knocked, gently, and spoke, "Vilkas? Can I come in, please?" There was no response, and Hainin rested his fist against the door, and then his forehead. "I just want to see her, Vilkas, _please_." He hesitated a moment. "I loved her just as much as you did, just in a different way. I need to see her."

There was another moment, and Hainin was going to give up, because he was just so _tired_. He was going to walk away from the door, and leave, because he couldn't stand the baby's crying, but before he could, the door opened.

Vilkas stood on the other side, and Hainin had never seen such a wreck of a person. His eyes were red, and he was pale. His hair was disheveled, as though he'd been pulling at it, and he did not look Hainin in the eye. Instead, he sidestepped, which was permission to enter the room.

"Thank you," Hainin said, softly, and he moved into the bedchamber.

A thick lump formed in his throat as soon as he saw Cry. Vilkas had, somehow, managed to change her clothing, and she was wearing her armor. She was laid out on the bed, her hands holding the hilt of her greatsword, which was gleaming despite the darkness of the room.

Hainin glanced at Vilkas, who hadn't yet closed the door. His eyes were closed, and his head was tilted in the direction that the babe's cries were coming from, as though listening to and interpreting them. After a moment, however, he opened his eyes again. He closed the doors, muffling the cries.

"How'd you do this?" Hainin asked, gesturing to Cry.

Vilkas lifted his shoulders, and moved to the bedside. He sat down in a chair there, and set his gaze on Cry. He did not look at Hainin again, even as he approached the bed himself.

Cry was colorless, as she had been, and she'd swollen a bit, but there was something about the way that her hair lay over her shoulders and the expression on her face that was… beautiful, almost. Peaceful. He was glad to see that, since hours earlier she had been in so much pain.

"She looks… peaceful," he said aloud, glancing at Vilkas to judge his response. The Companion's expression didn't change, but he did reach up to swipe at his eyes. "I really am sorry, Vilkas. It isn't fair." Vilkas dipped his head, slightly, and Hainin returned his gaze to Cry. "I also know you don't want to leave her, but… I'd really like to talk to her, alone."

Vilkas was still for a moment, and then he seemed to cave into himself. He hung his head, and then stood up, slowly. He glanced at Hainin, nodded once, and then exited the bedchamber. He closed the door behind him, once again muffling the sounds of the baby. Hainin listened, but he could hear nothing on the other side other than the babe.

He exhaled, and moved to take Vilkas's vacated chair. He wanted to take Cry's hand, but decided not to disturb the position that Vilkas had laid her in, and instead leaned closer to her.

"Hi," he said, softly. "Sorry that I made your man leave, but I just wanted to be alone with you for a minute. I won't keep you long, I promise." He paused, and then he let out a short chuckle. "I kind of feel like I should blame myself for this, because I've saved your life so many times. I guess there was one enemy I couldn't save you from, though, and I'm sorry about that."

He shifted in his seat, rubbing his hands against his thighs. "I'll need to write Nazir about what happened. Hopefully he gets here in time for… well, for whatever's going to happen next." He sighed. "I know he'd definitely want to be here, anyway. I hope he can be, and I'm sure you do, too.

"I'm sort of rambling here, I know," he continued, reaching up and swiping a hand across his eyes. "I should tell you that I've only cried for three people in my life, and on a list that includes my mother and my former self, you're there, too." He smiled, and passed his fingers through her hair. "I did love you, you know? Not like Vilkas does, of course, or even Brynjolf. Maybe not even the same way that Farkas and Aela did. I think… I think my love for you was special, reserved just for you. I felt like… this is going to sound strange, Cry, but I felt like I'd always known you, and even like I _was_ you, at some point."

He shook his head to himself, and brushed his fingers through his own hair. "I know that must sound really stupid. It doesn't make much sense, even to me, but…" He paused, lowered his hands to the bed. "I just… I wish I could've… well, no, that's a lie. I don't want to be dead, but I really don't want you to be dead. I wish… I wish some evil bastard could take your spot instead. That's fair, right? I'm not comparing you to an evil bastard, of course, I just…" He sighed. "You know what I mean."

Hainin gazed at Cry, feeling the pain starting to creep back into his eyes, forgotten as soon as he'd stood up to go down to the living quarters. Now, however, it was back, and he groaned, covering them both with his hands. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I thought about killing your baby, earlier, but I didn't, so… you're welcome I guess, even though it did kill you.

"Kind of, anyway. You would still be alive if you hadn't had it, at any rate, but then _it_ would be dead, and I know how long you and Vilkas have wanted a baby for, so… but I guess Vilkas might not want it so much anymore, since it killed you." He winced. "I'm rambling again. I should leave now, so that Vilkas can come back in here. No doubt he's wondering what's taking so long."

He stood up, and then leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead. It was cold, and he drew back, sighing to himself. "For the Dragonborn, you'd think you'd be warmer, even in death." He smiled, and brushed back her hair again. "I love you, my friend. Rest easy."

He left her as she was, and walked back out into the sitting room. Vilkas was not present, and Faisley had gotten the child to shut up, at least for now. Hainin gestured towards the bedchamber as he passed where she sat beside the cradle.

"I'd go in there now, while he's gone, because I doubt you'll get another chance."

Faisley nodded in agreement, and quickly ducked into the bedchamber. Hainin remained behind a moment, watching the door close behind her, and then he walked over to the cradle. The babe was laying inside of it, awake but silent. She blinked up at Hainin, her blue eyes wide, and he sneered at her.

"Creature."

She blinked again, and he grunted, moving away from the cradle and out of the sitting room. So much for getting what they'd always wanted. What they had always wanted had come in the form of a murderer with eyes that matched the mother's it had killed.

Hainin hated it.

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 **Interesting, to see a murderer hate another murderer, isn't it?**

 **Later on this week, two more perspectives on the period after.**


	17. Quiet

**I don't own any aspect of Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, including story lines or characters. The only things that belong to me are the story lines _I_ come up with, and the characters that I stick in them. **

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**Farkas's perspective on the day after.**

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 **Quiet**

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The thing Farkas noticed first when he woke up was that Jorrvaskr was very quiet. At first he was confused as to why; it was late morning, he could feel, and usually, the whole place would be alive with conversation, with activity. That had been one thing that had changed, when Cry took over for Kodlak as Harbinger; Jorrvaskr had gotten noisy.

Then Farkas remembered. Cry wasn't Harbinger anymore; Cry was dead. It made sense that Jorrvaskr was quiet.

He sat up, exhaling. He'd gone to sleep in the clothing he'd put on after the events in the Harbinger's bedchamber, not thinking he would be getting any more sleep. Aela, however, had made him take a sleeping draught, and he was grateful for that, because he felt more even, now, more like he could handle whatever else the day had planned. He hoped someone had gotten a sleeping draught into his brother as well.

Farkas moved off of the bed in his room, and headed out into the hallway of the living quarters. It was deserted, but now that he was fully awake, he realized that it was not so quiet after all. In fact, there was one constant, never-diminishing noise, one that had, at first, kept him awake even _after_ the draught.

His niece was crying.

Farkas headed in the direction the noise was coming from, and found himself standing in front of the closed doors to the Harbinger's sitting room. He almost didn't knock, but decided that he should, at the last moment. His closed fist hit the door, and, after another moment, it opened.

"Farkas, hi." It was Faisley standing there. She had dark bags under her eyes, and her hair was pulled back out of her face in a sloppily-made braid.

"Have you slept?" he asked her.

"I tried to," she responded, "but… the baby, and… and I just couldn't stop thinking." She let out a breath. "Hainin came in here around six, and managed to let me into the bedchamber to see my sister. Vilkas went back in there, however, and that's where he's been."

Farkas's shoulders slumped. "He hasn't slept either, then."

"Did you expect he would?" Faisley questioned, and Farkas shook his head.

"I had hoped someone gave him a sleeping draught, too." He paused. "Has she stopped crying at all?"

"Only for a little while," Faisley responded. "I was able to doze off for about fifteen minutes before she started up again. Funnily enough, it was mostly while Hainin was in there with my sister." She hesitated. "I don't know what's wrong with the child, but all this crying isn't good for her. She needs sleep, just as much as the rest of us."

Farkas nodded in agreement. "You've tried everything, I guess?"

"Everything I can think of," Faisley replied, and then she pressed the heel of her palm into her eyes. "I can't help but think that she might… she might be crying for her mother, and I can't give her that."

Farkas sighed. "And Vilkas refuses to deal with her?"

"He won't even speak to me," Faisley replied. "I don't think he spoke with Hainin, either, and they were in the room together for a good five minutes."

 _He's in shock,_ Farkas thought, glancing past her towards the closed doors of the bedchamber. _He's in shock, and he doesn't know what there is to say, so why speak at all?_

Still, the fact that he wasn't vocalizing, at least a little, was worrisome. Farkas thought that they might need to have someone come in and check on Vilkas, make sure that he wasn't going to… well, Farkas didn't know what, but he also didn't want to think about it.

"Could I try to speak with him?" he asked, and Faisley shrugged one shoulder, stepping out of the way of the door for him. Farkas slid into the sitting room. Before going over to the closed bedchamber doors, however, he went to the wooden cradle, where his niece lay wailing.

"Hey," he said, softly, reaching into it and placing a gentle hand on her chest. It vibrated with the strength of her cries, but they seemed to quiet, slightly, when he spoke to her. She continued to whimper, a little, her cheeks wet with tears, but she looked up at him, blue eyes shining.

"I'm going to go talk to your da," Farkas told her, "maybe convince him to come out and see you, all right?"

The tiny babe let out a whine, and Farkas rubbed her belly, in what he hoped was a comforting manner. He didn't know what to do with a baby, didn't even think she understood what he was saying, but the fact that she had toned it down on the crying was promising.

"I'll be back," he said. "Stop giving your Aunt Faisley so much trouble." He glanced in the high queen's direction, and she offered him a thin smile, before moving to sit down in the chair beside the cradle. Farkas moved away, and went to the bedchamber doors. He knocked on them, softly.

"Vilkas?" he prompted. "We need to talk about some things; I know you don't want to, but it has to happen eventually."

He paused, waiting for a response from the other side of the doors. When none came, he sighed to himself, and opened one of the doors, just enough for him to look into the room.

Cry lay on top of the bed, dressed in her armor, gripping her greatsword by the handle in both hands, which rested on her chest. Her hair had been let free of the braid that it had been pulled in, and it draped over her shoulders, already looking a little less golden and more dull. There were dark bags under her eyes as well, although Farkas didn't think those were from exhaustion, and he recognized a faint smell that wasn't pleasant.

"Vilkas," he said, quietly, looking at where his brother was seated in a chair next to the bed. "She needs to be taken to the Hall, to be prepared for the pyre."

Vilkas's shoulders were stiff, and his head was bowed. He did not respond, or even react, to what Farkas had said. The younger twin sighed to himself. He would have to handle it on his own, he supposed.

"Fine," he said. "I'll take care of it, but when they come for her, you'll have to let her go. Got it?"

Once again, Vilkas did not respond, and Farkas shook his head, before turning away. He closed the doors to the bedchamber. The baby had not started crying again, and Faisley was leaning back in her chair, eyes closed. She opened them, however, when she heard the door click shut.

"Any luck?" she asked, and Farkas shook his head. She closed her eyes again. "I didn't think so."

Farkas headed out of the sitting room, and down the hall to the stairs that would take him up into the mead hall. There, he found Hainin and Aela both, seated at the table in different locations, neither one of them speaking to the other. Farkas hesitated on the edge of the mead hall, before stepping towards the table.

"I'm going to go to the Hall of the Dead, see if they can come to take Cry away," he said to them both.

Hainin glanced up. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"Are you up for it?" Hainin looked terrible, if Farkas was being frank. His eyes were not only black-rimmed, but also red-rimmed, and his hair hung limp, completely lacking the usual, careful effort that he knew the assassin liked to put into it. No doubt he had not slept, either.

"If you don't want to go alone," Hainin said.

Farkas shook his head. "Stay here," he said. "You need to try to get some sleep." He glanced at Aela. "How about you?"

"About the same," Aela murmured, not looking up from the table.

Farkas nodded. "Fair enough," he said, and then he sighed. "I'll be back. Maybe the two of you can convince Vilkas to take a sleeping draught."

Neither one of them responded. Hainin had turned his gaze to some point in the distance, and he was unblinking. Aela moved, a little, but only enough to rest her head in one hand, her elbow on the tabletop.

Farkas left them where they were, and ducked out into Whiterun. Early morning sunlight blinded him momentarily, but he blinked it away. He exhaled a breath, seeing that the people were moving about as they always did; they had no idea that the Dragonborn was dead.

 _Well_ , he thought unhappily, _they'll find out soon enough._

He crossed the Wind District, headed for the Hall of the Dead. He had never been inside that place, had hoped he'd never have to go inside. Now, though, knowing that his brother was effectively useless, Faisley was occupied with the babe, Hainin was… also useless, and Aela had been the one to handle Kodlak's death, he thought it was his job to make the arrangements for Cry.

He pushed his way through the door into the first underground chamber. He was relieved to find that the caretaker Andurs was already there, clearly having just arrived to take care of business for the day. _Probably wasn't expecting any business,_ Farkas thought, seeing that the priest of Arkay was seated on a stone bench, reading a book and eating an apple.

He moved over to the bench. Andurs looked up, and blinked.

"Good morning," he said, closing his book and setting both it and the apple down. "What can I help you with?"

"My sister is dead," Farkas said, quietly, and Andurs tilted his head.

"Well, this might sound crude, but you've come to the right place, in that case," he said, and he stood up. "Come with me, and we can discuss different plans we offer."

"I don't need a tomb for her, or anything," Farkas said, following Andurs into a small room off to the right of the chamber nonetheless. "We're planning to burn her on the Skyforge."

"Oh. You're a Companion." Andurs retrieved a heavy book from off a shelf in the room, and set it down on the table in the center of it. He retrieved a quill, and dipped it into a jar of ink. Opening the book, he found a page in the middle of it, which had only one name listed on it, and Farkas's heart broke all over again to see that it was Kodlak's. "What is the name of the deceased?"

"Cry Silverworthy," Farkas said, and Andurs almost dropped the quill.

"The _Dragonborn_? She's dead?"

Farkas nodded. "Died in childbirth a little past one this morning, I think," he confirmed. He inhaled. "We'd like you to come retrieve her from Jorrvaskr, and prepare her for the ceremony, like you did for Kodlak Whitemane."

"Well, of course we can do that, but are you sure you wouldn't prefer her to be entombed here instead?" Andurs asked. "As the Dragonborn -"

"She was a Companion, too," Farkas said, stiffly. He was not interested in whatever this priest wanted to sell him on, her importance to all the people of Whiterun, all the people of Skyrim, how they might want to have a place to grieve for her. They could do that on their own terms, however they wanted. "Cry would have wanted a Companion's parting."

Andurs exhaled. "Very well," he said. "Myself and one of my associates will be by to retrieve her as soon as possible. When you are ready, we will bring her to the Skyforge for you."

"Thank you," Farkas said. "We will pay you then." He turned around, and stalked out of the Hall of the Dead.

He knew he was right, in saying that Cry would want to be burned, as a Companion always was, except in cases like Skjor, when they were far from home, and died in battle. Cry had died in battle, of course she had, but she had been at home, just as Kodlak had been, and this was how they did it for those Companions who were lucky enough. Plus, she was the _Harbinger_. He was not about to shove her in some coffin, and stick her in the dankness of the Whiterun catacombs.

Cry deserved to be laid to rest in the form of a Companion, of a harbinger. And, he thought, a little dryly, amidst fire, which was poetic, almost, considering she had been the Dragonborn, and dragons loved their damn fire.

* * *

 **One more perspective, coming out on Thursday. If you have no idea what all this is about, I suggest reading _A Story's Conclusion_.**

 **Spoiler alert, I guess. Should've said that in the last chapter, too, probably.**


	18. Take a Breath

**I don't own any aspect of Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, including story lines or characters. The only things that belong to me are the story lines _I_ come up with, and the characters that I stick in them. **

* * *

**Brynjolf's turn.**

* * *

 **Take a Breath**

* * *

"I'm just sayin', the cistern might look better if we cleaned it once in awhile."

Brynjolf exhaled a patient breath. "The last thing we can afford to waste money on is cleaning supplies to clean the whole place _once_ , let alone once every few months."

Rune looked pained. "But it's so… moldy," he complained, and the corner of Brynjolf's mouth lifted in a smirk.

He had been acting Guild Master for almost nine months, now. He thought he had settled into the job rather well, and, he was annoyed to admit, he had found that he enjoyed the work, just like Cry had said he would. It wasn't a bad thing that he liked his job; the bad thing was that Cry had been right. He hated when she was right.

He'd appointed Rune as second-in-command, after thinking long and hard about it. In the end, he'd decided that the young Nord was the best fit. He'd trained Rune himself, and had been part of the Guild for a long time. He was also. Incredibly good at his job, which Brynjolf appreciated in a partner.

Still. If he allowed himself to think about it, which he rarely did, he missed being Ziris's second-in-command, missed having her be the one to run the place. He knew that he would never be the. Guild Master she had been, and he hated to admit the fact that she had only been so good because she had been trained by a traitor. In all honesty, he should _hate_ that he would never be as good as Ziris had been, but in reality, he was more disappointed in himself for not having prepared himself better for the role.

Now, however, he thought he had a pretty good hang on it. The thieves were bringing in good coin, the coffers were filled, and everyone had gotten over the attempted assassination fiasco. Life was… all right, Brynjolf recognized, and he was happy to have been part of making it that way.

It seemed that Rune was beginning to think about matters that no Guild Master in Brynjolf's history had ever considered, and Brynjolf was not sure if _he_ wanted to consider them, either.

"C'mon, Bryn," Rune continued when Brynjolf hadn't spoken. "Just one deep clean, and then every few months, just to make sure it stays clean." He held his hands together in a begging gesture, and Brynjolf exhaled a breath.

"All right," he said, and Rune's eyes lit up, "but _you're_ in charge of organizing it."

"You got it, boss," Rune said, delighted, and he hurried away from the Guild Master's desk.

Brynjolf chuckled a little, and leaned back, crossing his arms.

The cistern was empty, aside from the shape of Thrynn asleep on his bed across the way. Brynjolf studied him for a moment, and his smile faded. Thrynn had grieved for Ziris for almost two months after her death before he'd actually started working again. He only had when Vex had threatened him with expulsion from the Guild, however, and Brynjolf knew that his heart wasn't truly in it anymore. He wondered how long it would be before Thrynn decided to leave the Guild on his own.

Delvin entered the cistern, then, and Brynjolf turned his focus to him instead. The Breton's face was set, and Brynjolf's brow furrowed as he took in his expression. Something, clearly, had happened, and it didn't seem like Brynjolf was going to like what it was.

Delvin paused in front of the Guild Master's desk, and Brynjolf uncrossed his arms. "What is it, Del?" he asked, wary.

"The Dragonborn," Delvin said, his tone painfully blank. "She's dead, Brynjolf."

Brynjolf blinked, twice. He was certain that he hadn't heard Delvin correctly. "Sorry… what?" he queried, letting out a huff of laughter.

"The _Dragonborn_ ," Delvin said again, with more force this time. "You know, the one you had a love affair with? Killed a lot of dragons? Could've taken over Skyrim, if she wanted? She's _dead_."

Brynjolf's heart went still in his chest. A wave of dizziness crashed over him, and he had to grab onto the edge of his desk to keep himself from collapsing as his knees suddenly became incapable of supporting his weight. He blinked rapidly, his eyes burning, and tried to focus on Delvin. Cry, dead? She couldn't be. She… she'd been perfectly fine, when he'd seen her last. What had happened between then and now?

"How?" he finally managed, and Delvin exhaled a breath.

"Childbirth," he said, quietly. "She had a baby girl, and in the middle of the night, she was taken by something called delivery shock." He glanced at Brynjolf. "I'm sorry, Bryn."

"No, you're not," Brynjolf said under his breath. He squeezed his eyes shut, and exhaled, slowly, trying to get a rein on his emotions. "Just… I need to be alone for a while."

"Brynjolf -"

" _Alone_ , Delvin." Brynjolf was able to harden his voice enough to sound commanding. There was a moment of silence, and then Delvin exhaled a breath of air.

"Fine," he said, in undertones, "but don't do this to the Guild over some woman who didn't even love you."

Brynjolf heard Delvin walk away, and when he was sure he was gone, he opened his eyes again. The cistern seemed smaller, now, and he decided that he needed to get out of it.

Using the desk, and then the wall, to support himself, he made his way towards the ladder that led up and out of the secret entrance. He, somehow, managed to drag himself up the ladder, and then out of the secret entrance. In his haste, he almost forgot to close it, to keep it hidden, but he remembered at the last moment.

He managed to make it to the statue of Talos before collapsing, rather heavily, to the ground. He pressed his hands to his face and bowed over so low that his forehead touched the grass. He couldn't believe it. Cry couldn't be dead. She just… she was… it wasn't possible.

His thoughts drifted to the last time he'd seen her, when he'd kissed her, and she'd pushed him away. However, she'd assured him that she would love him, at some time, some place. In some life. And… he'd been so certain that he would get to wherever that was first.

And yet… here he was, still alive. And she was dead.

He exhaled heavily. He had to get to Whiterun, to Jorrvaskr. The Companions would no doubt perform their ritual for the dead, and he wanted to be there when it happened. He also wanted to see the baby that had killed the woman he loved.

Mostly, however, he just wanted to see Cry.

And idea crossed through his mind. An idea so crazy, so… _impossible_ , that it was almost stupid of him not to try it.

He lifted his head, his eyes settling on the shadow that the statue of Talos was casting across the grass. He moved closer to it, and then, without hesitating, place his hand into it, the way he'd seen Ziris do so many times before.

Brynjolf hadn't been expecting anything to happen, so when he was suddenly standing in the center of the cistern rather than laying in the grass outside the secret entrance, it was sort of a shock.

It was even more of a shock to find Ziris standing behind the Guild Master's desk, hands pressed against the top of it, and her head tilted. In that instant, she looked so much like Mercer that Brynjolf was stunned.

"Surprised to see me?" she asked. Brynjolf _was_ surprised to hear that there was no venom in her voice.

"No," Brynjolf said. "I wanted to speak with you." He moved towards the Guild Master's desk, pausing on the other side of it. They had stood in these same spots so many times before that it was almost comfortable.

Ziris shook her head. "Brynjolf, it doesn't work the way you think," she told him. "The shadows are a completely different place from wherever your girlfriend would have gone." She paused. "Besides, she hasn't even gone anywhere, yet. She's still with the Companions in Whiterun, probably trapped in Tamriel until they burn her, or whatever it is they do."

"But you can talk to her, can't you? Ask her to come speak with me?" Brynjolf asked, and he wasn't even embarrassed to hear the begging tone in his voice. " _Please_ , Ziris, I just need… I need to talk to her."

Ziris blinked at him. A moment of silence passed between the two of them. "Why couldn't you have cared this much about _me_?" she finally asked.

"I don't know," Brynjolf murmured, lowering his gaze. "I wish I had an answer for you, but I don't, and I'm _sorry_." He paused. "But… I… I did try, Ziris. Could you… try for me, now?"

Ziris gazed at him for a long time without speaking. Finally, however, she let out a breath. "She'll meet with you," she said, under her breath. "She wants to speak to you, too, but she won't leave Vilkas alone for too long, so you'll have to make it quick." She was quiet. "Do you think… in another life… you could love me, too?"

Brynjolf exhaled. "I… I don't know," he said, and Ziris offered him a thin smile.

"I guess I appreciate that more than you lying to me," she said, and then she bowed her head. When Brynjolf blinked again, he was standing in a sunny field instead, and Cry was standing in front of him, rather than Ziris.

Her attention was turned away from him, at some point in the distance. After a moment, however, she looked at him, and smiled a little. Her hair shone like gold, and her eyes sparkled. She was beautiful.

"Hi."

Brynjolf's heart broke. "Hi," he said, taking a step towards her. "How are you?"

Cry chuckled. "Well, not bad, actually," she said, holding out her arms, "but I am dead, so…"

"How?" Brynjolf asked, and Cry tilted her head a little.

"You already know that."

Brynjolf inhaled. "Fine. Maybe the better question is _why_."

Cry offered him a gentle smile. "You make it sound like I wanted to leave my husband and newborn daughter," she said, lightly, "when in reality, if given the choice, I would've stayed behind for them both."

"So why are we here talking to one another right now, then?" Brynjolf demanded. "You're the Dragonborn, Cry! You must've been able to do _something_ , something that would have kept you alive!"

Cry studied him. "Do you know what delivery shock is, Brynjolf?" she questioned at last, and Brynjolf frowned.

"No, but what -?"

"My mother was at risk for it, both when she had my sister, and when she had me," Cry continued without letting him finish. "She survived both of our births, and because of this, I knew what I was at risk for, if I were to ever have a baby myself." She paused, examining his expression as he let this sink in. "Did that stop me from having a baby?"

"No," Brynjolf said after a moment.

"No," Cry agreed, and she lifted her shoulders. "Do you want to take a guess as to why that is?"

"Because… you wanted a baby?"

Cry smiled. "Exactly. And I was going to have a baby, no matter what the risk was to me."

Brynjolf was still struggling to understand what this conversation was supposed to be doing for him, reconciliation wise. "Wasn't there something you could do? Something that would increase your chances of survival?"

"Yes," Cry said, "but it would've decreased my daughter's chance of survival, and I was not going to risk that." She took a step forward. "I'm sorry, Brynjolf, but I made a choice, and this is the outcome that I received." She held her hands out to the side. "There's nothing that can be done about it, now."

"I just… you left Vilkas behind, you left your daughter behind, your brother-in-law, that redhead that you were close with…" Brynjolf trailed off, and then shook his head, helplessly. "I just…"

"Hey," Cry said, and he looked at her. "Look at it this way," she said, grinning, "I'm off the hook from your Guild wanting me dead, so you don't need to worry about that anymore."

"I stopped worrying about that months ago," Brynjolf muttered, and then he closed his eyes, bowing his head. "I wish… I wish I could've been able to see you, before it happened."

"Well, you have permission to come visit me before my body gets burned, if that's any consolation," Cry said, and Brynjolf snorted. Cry smiled again. "I _would_ like you to go, all jokes aside."

"Why? So I can be the only one who doesn't really belong?" Brynjolf asked.

"No," Cry said. "So that everyone I cared about can be in the same room together to grieve for me." Brynjolf glanced at her, and she winked at him. "Take care of yourself, Brynjolf."

With that, he felt the sensation of being dropped heavily back onto the ground beside the statue of Talos. He pushed himself into a sitting position, and lifted his gaze to the sky, briefly. After a moment, he closed his eyes, inhaled, and then exhaled.

He then stood up, and headed back to the Guild to prepare for a trip to Whiterun.

* * *

 **Well.**

 **That's that.**

 **I guess I could write one for Faisley, and one for Aela, but... eh.**

 **Let me know.**


	19. Final Resting Place

**I don't own any aspect of Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, including story lines or characters. The only things that belong to me are the story lines _I_ come up with, and the characters that I stick in them.**

* * *

 **Sometimes you gotta look beyond.**

* * *

 **Final Resting Place**

* * *

Cry left Vilkas where he was on the Skyforge, and turned to face the fast openness that she had become familiar with. It was fine, she supposed, although very empty. It was also very bright, but that made sense, considering where she was.

She found herself wandering for what felt like ages. She had a sense of where she needed to go, but she didn't know how to get there. The last time she had been there, she had been deposited directly where she had been meant to go, via a portal. Death was not a portal, not in the slightest.

Cry was not sure what she was supposed to do. She could still see Vilkas and their daughter, whom he'd named Daina. She loved the name, and thought it suited her completely. It sounded like a sweet song that a bard would write at the height of the best love in their life. Perhaps Daina would come to be that, for Vilkas. She knew that Vilkas would love her differently than he had loved Cry herself, but that did not mean he could not come to love Daina more than he had loved Cry.

Even as she thought about it, she knew she was just making things up to make herself feel better. No matter how much Vilkas came to love Daina, he would never forget that Cry had died while bringing her into the world. That did not mean he would resent their daughter; no, Vilkas would never be so selfish. It was just something that would be associated with Daina that no one who was close with Cry would ever forget.

Cry watched her family from wherever it was that she had ended up, and wished that she hadn't had to leave them. In reality, she hadn't really been given a choice, despite what she knew they all thought. She had chosen to let Daina be born naturally rather than through the method that Faisley had suggested because if she hadn't, Daina would have died for Cry to have lived, and that was not what she had wanted. She had already lost one child at that point; she would not allow Vilkas, nor herself, to suffer from a second loss as terrible as that one, especially after they had made it to the point they had. Instead of allowing her daughter to die, Cry had chosen to die in her place, and she was content with it.

Well, as content as she could be, not being able to raise the child with Vilkas. Still, she felt that he knew that she was watching, and paying close attention. He was doing the best he could, and she was relieved that he was not trying to avoid accepting help from everyone else. Of course, she had made sure that he wouldn't before she'd allowed herself to die, so it was partly her doing, as were most things that Vilkas decided to do.

She sighed as she watched him toss Daina in the air, much to the baby's delight. Black hair had sprouted on her head, and had grown rapidly. Now it was almost to the nape of her neck. Cry had thought she would inherit Vilkas's hair, rather than her own. The black hair and blue eyes made for a beautiful babe, and Cry couldn't help but smile as she listened to Daina giggle. It seemed that she was growing so fast.

"Time isn't necessarily a concept, here."

She turned, and was surprised to find Kodlak Whitemane standing behind her. He smiled, and held out his arms. "Which is part of the reason it took me so long to get to you. I'm sorry for that."

"Ah, that's what I was waiting for," Cry said, turning around fully to face him. She stepped forward, and hugged the previous Harbinger, tightly, before drawing backwards again. "Although, I'm surprised to see it's you, rather than one of my parents."

"Well, you were the one to make sure that I got to Sovngarde and Shor's Hall," Kodlak said. "It seems only fair that I'd be the one to lead you there."

"I get to go to Shor's Hall?" Cry asked in surprise, and Kodlak tilted his head at her.

"Why wouldn't you?"

"I died in childbirth," Cry said, and she shrugged. "I just feel like… more valiant deaths are allowed into Shor's Hall."

"Youngling, dying while creating a new life is the most valiant death anyone could have," Kodlak said, and Cry smiled at him. "Are you ready to go?" he asked her, and she glanced over her shoulder. She could still see Vilkas and Daina, but their image was becoming dimmer, less clear than it had been. That probably meant that it was _time_ to go, at any rate.

"You'll see them again," Kodlak assured, and she glanced back at him. "It's kind of fun to imagine the reunion between you and Vilkas."

"That won't happen for many years, though, right?" she queried, and Kodlak smiled.

"Vilkas is safe where he is, and he'll be there for a while," he said, and Cry relaxed. She looked at her husband and daughter one last time, only to find that the image had blurred significantly. She could barely make out the two of them now.

"I don't like that," she said, gesturing. "I feel like my connection to them is disappearing."

"Not at all," Kodlak said. "They're just letting you go."

"And that's a good thing?" Cry asked him.

"Yes," Kodlak said. "They're allowing you to rest, lass."

"I can still watch over them, though?"

"You'll have an even better view from Shor's Hall."

Cry let her shoulders relax, and she nodded. "All right," she said. "Let's go."

"Your parents are waiting for you," Kodlak said, placing an arm around her and leading her through the whiteness. As they walked, the white faded away into colors that she was more familiar with. Blues and purples appeared, as did scenery that she had experienced while in Sovngarde to face Alduin. Cry was relieved to see that it hadn't changed whatsoever.

"I've missed them," she said.

"And they've missed you," he said. "But they are proud of you and Faisley both." He paused, and then chuckled. "I suppose I should just let them tell you all this."

"Crayla." They had crested a ridge, and were standing in front of a small structure. From inside it came Alvor Honeyrunner, wearing a large smile. He looked how he had the last time Cry had seen him alive. Behind him, Runa Honeyrunner was peeking over his shoulder, a smile that was just as big on her own beautiful face.

"Mother, Father," Cry said, grinning back. She left Kodlak's side and jumped into her father's arms. Alvor hugged her tightly, and Runa joined in, moving around to the other side so that she could hug Cry as well.

"We are so proud of you, sweetling," Alvor murmured.

"Everything you've done has given us reason to be," Runa agreed.

Cry pulled out of the hug, and looked at both her parents. "I'm sorry that… that -"

"Shh," Runa murmured, pressing her hand to Cry's cheek. "We were protecting you and your sister."

"We would not go back and make a different choice," Alvor added. He placed an arm around Runa's shoulders. "We're happy with how things turned out, for both of you. You s _aved Skyrim_. Faisley is _High Queen_. You managed to find a love just as wonderful as the one your mother and I share." He shrugged one shoulder. "I think all that was worth it."

"Faisley's all alone," Cry said after smiling at him, and both her parents glanced downwards at this. "So I'm right, then. Her marriage to Ulfric isn't the happiest."

"Faisley is strong," Runa replied. "She can make it through this. We're giving her as much support as we can, just as we're giving support to Vilkas, so that he has the strength to raise our granddaughter alone. Daina is meant for great things."

Cry let out a light laugh. "I thought so."

Kodlak cleared his throat, and they all turned to look at him. "I should be getting Cry to Shor's Hall. She can come back here, though, once we get it all settled away."

Cry nodded in agreement, and hugged her parents one last time. "I'll be right back," she assured, and then she turned and went back over to Kodlak. Together, they continued walking towards the final resting place of the bravest Nords.

Cry was glad that she was counted among their ranks.

* * *

 **Whoo, it's been a minute! Did everyone forget that Cry had died in childbirth? Well, now you remember!**

 **Uh... I'm back in college. This is just a quick leftover I had on my Google Doc featuring one-shots for the Skyrim-verse. Thought I'd get it up, since it's been... it's been a second since the last one.**

 **Maybe I'll see you guys soon? I have a lot of reading to do; four history classes, ladies and bros and non-binary amigos! It's all reading and writing. Thank goodness for no arithmetic!**

 **I haven't taken a math class in almost two years. Crazy.**

 **Oh, well. Fuck math.**


End file.
